A Misunderstanding, Said He
by The1stHarbinger
Summary: Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, Stiles kept thinking. I'm going to die. This is what I get for having normal sexual teenage desires. High School AU. Slash.


It was no secret - to Stiles' (two) friends, anyway - that Stiles was completely obsessed with Derek Hale, and had been for at least the past two years. Derek was smart, funny, charming, and above all, fucking _gorgeous_. Of course, every other week Stiles would see a different girl hanging from those exquisite biceps, and he had never noticed any indication that Derek might be into men, but still. A guy could dream.

It was a Friday, and there was nothing new or interesting about it. Stiles was staring at the back of Derek's head - his hair looked splendidly ruffled today - while he sat in the back of their absolutely _boring_ psychology class. After all, Derek's broad shoulders were infinitely more interesting than Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, in Stiles' critical opinion. What was not customary, however, was Derek's turning around in his seat, apparently to ask for a pen from the girl that sat behind him. More specifically, the way he looked up briefly and caught Stiles' eye, smirking lightly. And then _winking._

Stiles almost fell out of his chair. Well, okay, not really. But his hands were gripping the desk in front of him so tightly that the knuckles had gone white, his heart had started to race, and he was pretty sure he was close to hyperventilating. He had to silently tell himself to _breathe, dammit._ It wasn't that big a deal.

Not. At. All...

x X x

"Scott!"

Scott's head peeked out from behind his open locker and he grinned widely at Stiles as he ran towards him. He'd briefly caught the curious attention of a few others that were standing around the hall, so when he got to Scott he lowered his head and softened his voice. He blurted, "Derek _winked_ at me."

Scott's eyes widened. "What?"

Stiles bit his lower lip, nodding frantically. "I'm serious," he said. "You know how we had psychology together just now?" He waited for Scott to nod before continuing. "Well, he turned around in his seat to ask for a pencil or something, but I swear, he looked _right_ at me. And smiled. Then he _winked._ I'm not making this up!" He even lifted up his flannel sleeve to show him the raised bumps on his skin.

Scott was smiling himself, but Stiles thought it might have been more out of amusement than anything.

"What?" he demanded with a pout.

"Nothing!" Scott bit his lip, but his eyes were still sparkling. "That's, uh... it's good, isn't it?"

Stiles pursed his lips. Was it good? What was he thinking? _Of course_ it was. "Obviously it's good. That's step one down: get him to notice me."

Now Scott was visibly containing his laughter. "And what are the other steps?"

"Spend more time with him. Seduce him. Have my wicked way with him." He said all this flatly and with a straight face.

Scott finally burst out laughing, and Stiles fought back his own smile, trying to appear affronted.

"I'd rather thought I would be the one doing the seducing, but I think I like your plan better," came a familiar voice from behind him. Stiles spun around, his smile wiping from his face to leave him wide-eyed and gaping. He found himself breathless for the second time that day.

Derek stood leaning against a locker a few down from Scott's, a sinful smirk gracing his luscious pink lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He pushed smoothly off the locker and took a few small steps forward until he stopped right before Stiles, their noses mere inches apart.

"I..." Stiles gasped, unable to look away from Derek's eyes. "I don't- I didn't mean... I was just-" Suddenly, there was a calloused finger pressed gently to his lips, expertly deterring Stiles' embarrassing babbling.

"So, I was thinking tonight perhaps? I could take you to my house. My mother's out on business and my sister's going to be staying over at a friend's. We'll have the place to ourselves, so..." He shrugged suggestively. "What do you say?"

Stiles gulped, his eyes drifting to Derek's lips when the other boy tilted his head just slightly and licked his bottom lip for only a moment. One torturous moment. "I... what?" Stiles asked.

He felt a sudden loss of Derek's presence as the other boy backed away, chuckling. "Why don't you let me know by the end of the day? I'll wait for you outside by the parking lot, yeah?"

And then he was gone like he had never even been there in the first place, and Stiles had to wonder if all of that had actually just been his imagination. He glanced questioningly at Scott. _Did that really just happen?_

Unfortunately, Scott appeared to be just as speechless.

x X x

"I'd be careful if I were you, man. I don't know, but that's just weird," said Stiles' other friend, Isaac, as the three of them congregated at Stiles' locker at the end of the day.

"Why's it weird?" Stiles asked irritably. "Because it's me?"

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Not everything's about you, Stiles," he said, rather unfairly in Stiles' opinion. "Since when has Hale been into dudes? Why is he just suddenly willing to take you _to his house_? I don't know anybody who has even _been_ to his house before." Stiles was about to protest, sure that couldn't be true - not with all the girls he'd seen Derek with - but Isaac stalled him with a raised hand. "It's just all a bit sudden is all I'm saying. Not to mention he's a bit of a dick."

Stiles opened his mouth again to object on Derek's behalf, but Scott spoke up first. "I think Isaac might have a point, Stiles," he said slowly, as if to curb Stiles' sometimes explosive reactions.

Stiles stared at his friends with incredulity. "You two can't possibly be serious. Are you _really_ asking me to pass up a chance to sleep with _Derek Hale,_ the boy I fantasize about every night and have gone on and on about to you for the past _two years_? Maybe more?"

Scott winced while Isaac just looked as if he'd like to bang his head against a wall, and neither expression did anything to quell Stiles' dismay.

"I'm not necessarily saying that you shouldn't go, Stiles," Scott said. "Just... be careful, as Isaac said. And don't, you know, _do_ anything you're not comfortable with."

"Christ, Scott, I'm not a blushing virgin." Not quite, anyway. He once jerked off a guy he didn't know at a party he wasn't invited to, but that was about the extent of his sexual encounters. Now that he really thought about it, he wasn't sure that exactly counted.

Scott shoved his arm, snickering. "Oh shut up. You know I'm only trying to look after you."

"Alright, alright. I'll 'be careful', or whatever. But I'm still going," Stiles said, voice firm.

Scott huffed in exasperation, but gave him a clap on the back anyway, and Isaac muttered, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He was being overdramatic, clearly. The only thing nerve-wracking about this entire situation was the fact that he and Derek were probably (hopefully) going to have sex. And anyway, that was the good kind of nerve-wracking.

It wasn't at all weird.

After leaving his bag with Scott, Stiles left to find Derek. He swallowed nervously as he pushed through the front doors of the building and made his way outside. He scanned the parking lot until he found a familiar leather jacket, ambling slowly to where Derek was propped against the hood of his no doubt very expensive car, scrolling through his phone.

He looked up when Stiles stopped in front of him, and Stiles thought he would be blinded by the bright grin that was awarded him. Derek stood gracefully so that their chests touched, and he stuffed his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. "You decided then?"

To Stiles, it didn't sound like much of a question, but he nodded anyway. "I want to..." He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence, but luckily, he didn't have to.

If possible, Derek's grin grew even wider. "Well, come on then." He angled his head to the passenger's door, proceeding to open it for a blushing Stiles.

The drive to Derek's house was almost, but perhaps not quite, uncomfortably silent. Stiles took the time to text his dad that he would be staying at Scott's tonight, and tried not to feel guilty about the lie. By the time they were turning onto a dirt road, Derek glanced at him for the first time since they'd gotten in the damn car. He must've seen something in Stiles' expression, because he said, "No need to be nervous," and winked. _Again_. Strangely, Stiles' heart racing felt distinctly different from the last time.

They continued to drive down the seemingly endless road, the trees condensing.

After what felt like an infinity, Derek finally pulled into a driveway of a gigantic mansion of a house. Stiles couldn't help gaping at the building, which was much larger than any of the other buildings they had passed on the way here. Derek smirked when he saw his look, but Stiles hardly cared. He was too wrapped up in imagining what it would be like to live in someplace like _this_.

Derek had his keys out when they reached the massive wrought iron front doors. Stiles held his breath in anticipation as the boy unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The interior was huge and dark and intimidating, impersonal, all so very alike and unlike Stiles had imagined. Derek closed the door behind them, and Stiles heard a light switch, but no light came on.

"Shit," Derek cursed. "I forgot the lights aren't working - faulty circuit breaker or something. But don't worry, everything else has power."

Stiles didn't know why he didn't particularly find that reassuring, but he pushed it from his thoughts to focus on more important things. Like the fact that he was in Derek's _house_.

As Derek led him out of the foyer, he noticed figures on the walls, stopping and staring when he realized just what they were. He turned in place, finding at least half a dozen various antlers and _deer heads_ adorning the walls. Stiles was sure he'd never been so wide-eyed and speechless in his life. He started to wonder what exactly he had gotten himself into.

"Oh, those are from my uncle," Derek said from behind him. Stiles fought not to jump and turned around, a shiver running down his spine. He just wanted to look at Derek as they spoke, that was all. "Sometimes he takes me up to the mountains in the spring, but usually I'll just fish or something. My mom actually loathes the things, but..." He shrugged.

Stiles gulped and nodded. He wasn't sure he was actually thinking clearly enough to understand anything, though, and not just because he was preoccupied with getting into Derek's pants.

"Let's go to my room," Derek said when Stiles didn't respond.

Stiles could only follow as he was led up two flights of stairs and down a hall to a door all the way at the end. He passed various paintings and decor, antiques that were shadowed and admittedly quite hideous in the meager lighting from the window at the other end of the hall. It was like walking into a haunted mansion. Which was ridiculous, obviously, but still. He wished he could turn on a light.

Thankfully, from what Stiles could see, Derek's bedroom was much like any other teenage boy's, with dirty laundry strewn about the floor, numerous posters and things decorating his walls, and other miscellaneous items scattered around. The room was easily twice the size of Stiles' own, and contained a few items Stiles' decidedly did not. Such as the enormous flatscreen TV and the modern leather couch in front of it.

"Um," Derek mumbled. His face was flushed, eyes averted, and for the first time Stiles got the impression that he was maybe a little nervous, too. Though Stiles was starting to figure it was probably for different reasons. "D'you want to start with a movie or something?" He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Stiles was unmistakably relieved at the offer, but his agreement stayed casual. Or as casual as it was possible for him to be.

Unfortunately for him, his relief was short-lived when Derek decided to put on _The Silence of the Lambs,_ of all things, and they each settled on opposite ends of the sofa. Stiles wished Derek had asked for his opinion on horror films first - he hated them - but he couldn't very well say anything now. He'd look like a pathetic idiot, and Derek was still his crush.

He sat stiffly through the first half hour of the film, unable to comprehend how Derek could laugh at any part of it while simultaneously starting to input his own suggestions, as if he regularly considered what he'd do if he suddenly found himself in a similar position to Hannibal Lecter.

"Do you mind if I use the bathroom?" Stiles managed to ask after much deliberation with himself. Derek glanced at him from where his head rested on his open palm, and he nodded.

"Just three doors down on the left," he said.

Stiles nodded and got up, exiting the bedroom. He ignored Derek's directions and kept heading back in the direction he had come, intent on exploring a bit. Hopefully in this way, he would learn a bit more about Derek. And if, perhaps, his friends had been right.

The stairs creaked and moaned under his feet as he descended them, though he couldn't recall them doing so as he'd gone up. There were also random clangs and thumps behind the walls periodically as Stiles made his way deeper into the house. He told himself all old houses did that, and it really wasn't that creepy.

He crept along the wall below the banister, only letting out a shocked gasp when something raced from under his feet. It shot across the room to hide in the shadows before he really got a good look at it, making intermittent hissing sounds. Stiles' overactive imagination helpfully conjured up the picture of a giant, ugly rat that had him shivering with disgust. He raced further along until he found himself in what could only be the kitchen. As was apparently everything in this house, it was incredibly vast.

Stiles dawdled around the granite top island in the middle of the tiled floor, noticing the crisp and spotless atmosphere of the place. It automatically made him wonder if Derek had a maid or something. He wouldn't be surprised.

When he saw the fridge, it was like he was drawn to it. It was bigger than Stiles' own and he suspected it held all sorts of goodies that Stiles wouldn't be able to have otherwise. Just a quick peek, he promised.

He wished he hadn't.

 _Red_ was splattered on the cluttered shelves inside, and drips of dried scarlet liquid were pasted to the sides. Horrified, Stiles slammed the fridge closed and sprinted out of there as quickly as his legs would take him, until he was back up the stairs and panting in front of an open door with a sign that read ' _Keep Out'._

And, of course, that was like an invitation to Stiles to waltz right in. _Why was he like this?_ But he couldn't stop now. His heart was racing in his chest, pounding uncomfortably against his ribcage. He took careful, trembling breaths as he pushed the door open further. It creaked on its hinges, making him cringe, but once the crack was big enough, he slipped right in.

Practically tiptoeing, Stiles surveyed his surroundings, his breathing quickening .

Knives. Rows upon rows of them, from daggers to bayonets and other assorted sharp blades that could potentially be used to skewer something. He didn't know a thing about weapons, but he could see they were well cared for, encased in transparent glass. Whose were these? A creeping terror crawled up Stiles' throat until he thought he would choke, thinking that they were possibly _Derek's._

What the _actual_ fuck?

Then he discovered the plastic bowl placed precariously at the edge of a glass casing. Feeling a disturbing curiosity set in, Stiles shuffled over to it reluctantly, stuffing his shaking hands into his front pockets.

Cautiously, he peered over the rim of the bowl. And promptly let out a high-pitched shriek that he was too petrified to be embarrassed over.

Because there, inside the bowl, was a shriveled _hand_.

He dashed out of the room, pausing when he heard footsteps above him - and thank _fuck_ he wasn't on the same floor as Derek - and then his name was being called. Before he could so much as move a step forward, he heard footsteps descending the stairs.

Heart in his throat, Stiles slipped inside another room and locked the door. It was another bathroom, ironically. As he hid behind the shower curtains, his mind picked that moment to remember all of Derek's previous relationships. The _serious_ ones at least... Stiles _had_ been keeping track, after all. He recalled Jennifer's car accident mere days after a messy and broadcasted breakup, and thought suddenly that _accident_ might have been the wrong term for it. He remembered Kate, there one day and gone the next, like she had disappeared from the face of the planet. Derek hadn't even looked _upset._ At the time, Stiles thought that was a good thing, but now it just resulted in him wishing with all his might that he wasn't such an _idiot,_ and that really, when both of your _best friends_ are disapproving of something, maybe you should _take a second and look at it from their point of view._

 _Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,_ he kept thinking. _I'm going to die. This is what I get for having normal sexual teenage desires._

 _Of course_ he would have to fall for a psychotic possible murderer.

Sweat broke out on his brow as the footsteps came closer and closer. Stiles legitimately thought his ribs would burst from all the pressure being put on them from his racing heart. He wondered if this is what the people in horror movies felt like when they hid from men with axes and such. But no. _They_ were just actors.

This was real. He sent up a quick prayer to whoever could be bothered to listen to look out for his dad when he didn't come home. _If. If_ he didn't come home. If there was a time to start being optimistic about things, he thought now was probably it.

"Stiles?" A knock. "Are you alright? What are you doing down here?"

 _Trying to stay away from_ you. Stiles didn't move a muscle. Didn't even _breathe,_ nevermind that it left him feeling like he was going to pass out.

"Hello?" Another knock. "I know you're in there, Stiles."

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ And that's when he saw it. A colossal, furry, eight-legged creature that was probably supposed to pass for a spider but looked more like something that would come out of a nightmare. Just casually poised in the corner of the stone tiles.

"Holy _shit!_ " he squeaked.

"Stiles!?"

He stared wide-eyed at the spider, only able to even seen it because of the dim light flooding in from the crack under the door, and then he looked back at the doorknob that was wriggling impatiently.

Scary spider, or insane killer?

He decided quickly that he would rather take his chances with the psychopath and sprung from behind the curtains. Stiles slowly, quietly, unlocked the door, then abruptly swung it open, grabbing an item nearest to him - _a bar of soap?_ \- to hold over his shoulder threateningly.

Derek's eyes were wide with surprise at the sudden image of Stiles. He took in his stance, raising an eyebrow when he noticed the bar of soap. "Stiles, what the fuck?"

Stiles tried to control his breathing and took a valiant step forward. "I know who you are!" This doubtlessly wasn't the best way to handle a potential murderer, but he couldn't think of what else to do, and he hoped that this could at least count as a distraction long enough for him to find a way to escape.

Derek's brows furrowed in confusion. "What? Stiles, what's going on- ?" He tried taking a step closer, but Stiles yelled, "No!" Derek looked at him in bewilderment. "Don't come any closer."

"Oookay," Derek drawled, his hands slowly drawing up, as if in surrender. His stare was pointedly more inquisitive this time.

Stiles saw his chance. He didn't see anything sinister in Derek's open palms, nor did he notice anything alarming about the rest of his form. Sucking in a sharp breath and praying for strength, Stiles careened forward, hurling all his body weight at Derek.

Derek, surprised, stumbled off his feet and hit the opposite wall. Stiles didn't dally, somehow rising on unsteady feet and running down the rest of the corridor to the stairs. He raced back to the front door, throwing it open - half shocked it wasn't locked - and swiftly made his way back down the driveway.

He took to the trees encompassing the estate, suddenly immensely glad they were there, pausing only once to glance over his shoulder and make sure no one was following him. He didn't see anything.

With trembling fingers, Stiles extracted his phone from his back pocket. He called Scott. His voice shook as he described what had happened, and he could tell how worried Scott was by his frantic questions. He promised he would come and get him right away, and Stiles relayed the address to him even as he continued walking, trying to put as much space between him and that place as possible. Scott demanded he stay on the phone with him, and Stiles didn't protest much. He liked hearing Scott's soothing tone and soft breathing. It reminded him he was still alive.

Stiles didn't see Derek again that weekend, but he had a feeling this wasn't over.

x X x

Stiles wasn't himself all weekend, even with his friends staying at his house the entire time. Isaac had gone on a tirade and Scott thought they should tell Stiles' dad, but Stiles refused.

At some point, he even started to wonder if he'd been exaggerating.

But he knew what he'd seen. In any case, Derek was weird and Stiles no longer wanted anything to do with him (no matter that he was _still_ ridiculously gorgeous).

His dad had caught onto his mood fairly quickly, but no matter how often he asked what was up, Stiles had no new answer for him. He was fine. _Really._

And definitely not disappointed. Because of all the things to be feeling after such an ordeal, that was certainly the most ridiculous.

He couldn't fall asleep the night before he would go back to school. It undoubtedly had something to do with having to see Derek again the next day.

x X x

Stiles nearly leapt out of his skin when he closed his locker and saw Derek leaning right next to it. He backed up hastily, glancing around the empty hallways and cursing himself for getting to school so early. He wondered how loud he'd have to scream to get someone's attention, if they'd even get there in time to save him before he was brutally murdered.

A flash of hurt flitted through Derek's eyes, there and gone again. "Stiles, I..."

Stiles shook his head emphatically. "Stay away from me," he whispered, almost pleading.

Derek's head snapped up at the words. He looked pained. "I don't understand," he said helplessly. "What did I do? What went wrong?"

" _What went wrong?_ " Stiles hissed, eyes narrowed. "You took me to a haunted mansion for a date, alone, claimed the lights were conveniently not working, and then decided you'd just go ahead and watch whatever the hell it is you wanted, even if it's the kind of movie I _hate._ " Stiles stopped Derek when he saw he was about to protest with a look _._ "So what, right? A bad date. What's the big deal?" Stiles swallowed and took another careful step backwards. He was either being incredibly brave or astonishingly stupid. "But no. There's more to it than that, isn't that right Derek?"

Derek just looked confused. It did look almost convincing, Stiles could give him that.

"Confused? Didn't think anyone would find out you were actually _insane,_ did you?" Derek's eyes widened in disbelief. "Those stupid deer heads on the wall probably aren't even from your uncle, are they? Or maybe that's how it started. I _saw_ the blood in your fridge, Derek! All of those knives! The _hand_!" He almost gagged. He hadn't stopped thinking about it since he left Derek's house on Friday. " _You_ are a psychotic _creep_ who has keeps rats and spiders as _pets_! You're lucky I didn't tell my dad! The _sheriff_."

Some realization seemed to start to dawn on Derek, and his jaw dropped open. "Okay, Stiles, I can see why you might think that, but you're wrong. I swear all those things have an explanation. I'm not a creep or a psychopath or any other kind of deranged person, and I know that just makes me sound all the more like I _am_ , but I'm really not. Please, just let me explain!"

But Stiles was already shaking his head, ready to make a run for it. "Why did you ask me out then, huh? Out of nowhere? You've never given any indication before that you even knew who I was!"

Derek's shoulders wilted. "You don't remember?"

Stiles sputtered, thrown off guard. "What?"

Derek didn't answer, just said, "I like you, Stiles. Please just - just _stop moving away_." He grabbed Stiles' shoulders roughly, but seemed to realize that that wasn't the smartest move when Stiles' breath quickened to gasps, and almost immediately he let go again.

Perturbed, Stiles said again, "Stay away from me." He ran away as soon as Derek had backed up far enough. He didn't look back.

x X x

True to Stiles' wishes, Derek stayed far away from him, even when they found themselves forced into close proximity. A couple of times Stiles caught him staring at him sadly, but he immediately looked away when he realized Stiles was watching. He was a pale imitation of his usual self, slumping at his desk, walking around the halls with his eyes lowered and shoulders drooped, and never, ever smiling.

Scott and Isaac took to accompanying Stiles to and from class after he'd told them of the encounter Monday morning, but Derek never made any move to intercept him anyway.

Inevitably, Stiles started to wonder if he'd gotten it wrong. Derek had seemed so sincere, so upset that Stiles could possibly think so low of him. But as soon as he caught himself thinking like that, he stopped thinking altogether and moved on.

Until, of course, he was introduced to the lovely Cora.

Derek's _sister._

"So you're the one who's plunged my older brother into desolation." She stepped up to Stiles and his friends, giving him an obvious once-over. She met his eye. "Stiles, isn't it?"

Stiles nodded warily. He suspected that she was just as scary as Derek. If not more so.

"Look, I'll make this brief. My brother may be all kinds of idiot, but he isn't a creep. I understand your, er... date didn't exactly go according to plan, but I promise Derek has a perfectly reasonable explanation. Please, just give him a chance. _Before_ I have to do something drastic. You can even bring your little friends along if you're so inclined." Cora gestured with an elegant hand to Scott and Isaac, smiling prettily, and then she was gone.

A pause. "Stiles, you don't have-"

"Yeah, I do," Stiles cut Scott off. He'd already been thinking about it, whether he wanted to admit it aloud or not.

He _did_ want an explanation. _Needed_ one, in fact. Maybe then he could move on from this nightmare with some more understanding _._

"We'll come with you, then." Stiles saw Isaac nod in agreement.

Stiles shook his head firmly. "No." When it looked like they were about to protest, Stiles continued. "Look, I don't want you to get hurt because of me. I'll confront him in public, though, alright?"

"You can't be serious-" Isaac started, but Stiles said,

"I am. Don't worry about it." He couldn't understand it, but he wanted to talk to Derek relatively alone so he could hear what he had to say, unfiltered. He didn't know if it would make a difference, but his instincts were telling him that maybe not all had been as it seemed.

Stiles found Derek near his locker later that day and went right up to him, with only a little sweat on his hands. "Okay, talk," he said without preamble.

Derek's head turned to look at him, his mouth parted slightly. "I... what?"

It made Stiles feel a little better that this time around Derek was the one who was flustered. It made him seem more genuine and real. "Explain." He made an impatient gesture with his hand.

"Oh... right." Derek bit his lip, and Stiles shamefully couldn't help his eyes from tracking the motion. Derek cleared his throat softly and said, meeting Stiles' eyes, "I know what you think you saw, Stiles. And I can understand why it would look... _really_ bad. But... it's not what you think." Derek swallowed. Stiles nodded briefly, showing that he was listening. "Look, my uncle really is a hunter. I didn't make that up. He's the one who gave me all those knives you saw. He literally gets me one every other holiday, and it's not like I can refuse them. I put them in there because they are sort of interesting, but I've only ever actually used one." He saw Stiles' raised eyebrow and smiled self-deprecatingly. "It's a pocketknife, and no, I don't have it on me right now." He made a show of patting at all of his pockets.

Stiles was starting to feel a creeping guilt, which he pushed down violently. Perhaps he _had_ been wrong, but what was he _supposed_ to think at the time? And there was still a lot left to be explained.

"I didn't understand what you meant at first by 'the hand'," Derek continued, "but I found the bowl in that room, and I guess that might've been what you saw. It's just one of those decorations, Stiles, you know, the one you put candy in for Halloween to scare the kids? I forgot we even still had the stupid thing. The hand is green, and very much _plastic._ Maybe, 'cause it was dark..." He trailed off, appearing very much like someone who was trying not to sound accusing, but it was almost like he couldn't help the look he sent Stiles, the one that clearly said, _you're an idiot._

Admittedly, Stiles was starting to feel like one. He had already been so pumped up on adrenaline, it would have been all too easy for his mind to start seeing things that weren't really there, to come to the worst possible conclusion about everything he'd come across. And once he had it in his head, he would've looked at everything in a way that it would justify what his mind had already decided was happening. _So stupid._

Derek's lips quirked when he saw Stiles' expression, but the small smile quickly faded. "Um, Cora - my sister - she buys this... cranberry juice or whatever. Has it sent over from New Jersey and everything, says it's 'organic'. I don't know." He was rambling, eyes downcast. "In the fridge... it was just juice. I even licked it, just to make sure. It was disgusting, obviously, but not... blood disgusting."

His face pinched and twisted in a way that made him look like he'd swallowed a lemon. Stiles almost wanted to laugh.

"Er..." he said awkwardly. "I really probably shouldn't have taken you to my house that first time, I know. I was an idiot. I was just... I was nervous, alright? I _do_ like you. I just wasn't thinking properly."

Stiles' cheeks heated. He made Derek nervous? Like, the good kind of nervous?

"I also thought I heard you say once that _The Silence of the Lambs_ was your favorite movie, but clearly I'd misunderstood." Derek grimaced.

And come to think of it, Stiles could actually recall that conversation with Scott. He'd told him about a horror movie marathon his mother was putting on, and in return he'd said something sardonic.

"Um," Stiles finally spoke up. "I was being sarcastic."

Derek huffed a laugh and lowered his head. "Yes, I did figure that out."

"So _that's_ what this has been all about?" Came a loud voice from Stiles' right. He startled, and looked to find a boy with an impish smirk on his lips pushing off the lockers on the opposite side of the hallway, sauntering over to through his arm over Derek's shoulders.

Stiles recognized him as Jackson Whittemore, one of the people that Derek tended to hang out with a lot.

"Is he why you've been so downbeat lately?" Jackson asked with a sort of glee, his eyes sparkling. "Because you _scared_ the poor kid?" he guffawed.

" _Shut up_ , Jackson," Derek growled. He looked at Stiles apologetically.

"No, no, I don't think I will. This is too good. Mr Suave and his charms didn't work so well on this one, did they?" His smirk turned into a full on grin as his eyes roved lecherously up and down Stiles' form.

"Knock it off, man, seriously."

"Oh, calm down princess. I'm trying to help you out here." He met Stiles' eyes. "He's perfectly harmless, honestly. He cried during _The Notebook_."

Derek stared at him, outraged, trying in vain to get out from under his arm. "I most certainly did _not._ I've never even watched _The Notebook_!"

"Don't believe him," Jackson said, still staring at Stiles. "I saw it with my own eyes."

Stiles couldn't help the little smile that bloomed on his lips. Derek stopped struggling almost immediately when he saw it. He admitted with great reluctance, "Alright. Maybe a little."

"Hah!" Jackson crowed. "What'd I tell you? Perfectly harmless."

Stiles' smile blossomed into an all out grin. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe you're right."

And so it went. Stiles (with Scott and Isaac) slowly started to hang out with Derek and his friends more and more, until eventually Stiles felt comfortable to be alone with Derek whenever he very well pleased. The first time Derek kissed him, it was sweet and gentle, everything like he had ever imagined, and at the same time, not at all. It took a while for Stiles to want to step into Derek's house again, but when he did, it was with the lights working and a romantic comedy playing - not that they were really paying attention to it.

It turned out the rat Stiles had seen wasn't a rat at all, but a cat that Derek had found in his garage and had said he would give away eventually. The spider was Jackson's pet tarantula that he had left there one night and never retrieved ("Oh, so that's where that little shit got to.") and when Stiles had asked about his (ex-) girlfriends, Derek had said, "Jennifer is an idiot who likes to drink and drive" and explained that Kate had only moved to the UK, going so far as to show him her FaceBook profile where Stiles could clearly see pictures of her in front of the London Eye, happy, healthy, and most importantly, _alive,_ and claiming he had been glad to see her go ("She was a bit of a bitch, actually.").

When Stiles wondered one night, in Derek's bedroom, the two of them stark naked and tangled together in the sheets, what Derek had meant by 'You don't remember?' the first time Stiles had confronted him, Derek blushed and shrugged, said that in middle school he had constantly tried to get Stiles' attention, falling ass over tit for him without Stiles ever really knowing. Until, of course, he found the gym, took up football, and got a haircut. At that point, he admitted to growing rather cocky, wanting to torture Stiles as he had tortured him for years (He did apologize, though. If a bit reluctantly.).

Another night found them curled up on the couch in Derek's bedroom, lights dimmed, and some action movie playing quietly on the TV. That was where Derek gave him a pocketknife. It was painted white with a small, black wolf inscribed on the side. Though a little worn, it was well cared for, and Stiles took it hesitantly, appreciatively. Derek stared deeply into his eyes as he said, "I don't ever want you to feel unsafe, Stiles. Whether around me or anyone else."

In the end they kept the cat, calling it Hannibal. And as for the spider, well. It was unclear where that particular creature had run off to, but in any case, Stiles now shrieked like a little girl every time he saw a spider of any kind. He swore he'd never seen so many of the disgusting critters in one place before.

Derek hadn't said anything, but Stiles secretly suspected he had something to do with it. If only because Stiles went running to him every single time.

 _fin_


End file.
